There’s a Pacers playoff game today—and I’m not going.
But my heart is still right there at Gainbridge Fieldhouse.

My boyfriend, his best friend, and his best friend’s mom (who honestly deserves honorary superfan status) are going to Game 1 today, and I’m so excited for them I could burst. It’s not just a basketball game—it’s one of those moments. A core memory in the making. The kind of thing that lives in your bones forever.

They’ve been Pacers fans forever—cheering through the highs, the lows, the weird rebuilding years. They’ve been yelling at the TV, celebrating buzzer beaters, and cursing refs with real passion. They care about this team in the way that makes you care too, even if you didn’t grow up with it.

And today they’re there. In it. Surrounded by the energy, the fans, the lights, the buzz of playoff basketball in Indiana. I can already picture the texts I’ll get, the group selfies in front of the court, the recap of every play that made them lose their minds. I love that for them.

Sports are funny like that. They pull people together, give you a reason to scream in unison, believe in something, feel big feelings about grown men in jerseys. And honestly? That kind of joy is rare. When you find it, you hold onto it.

So today, I’m cheering from afar. Not just for the Pacers, but for the people I love having the time of their lives.
Let’s go, Pacers. Let’s go, memories.